This Scenic 83.85-Mile Highway In Arizona Is One Of America’s Most Spectacular Drives

Buckle up for a winding love letter to Arizona, where every curve on Arizona‘s State Route 89A reveals another jaw dropping scene. I drove all 83.85 miles from Prescott to Flagstaff, chasing red rock horizons, pine scented switchbacks, and quirky towns that feel like movie sets.

You will stop often, not just for photos, but because each bend whispers a new story worth hearing. Keep your sense of wonder handy and your brakes gentle, because this road rewards curiosity.

By the time you reach Sedona, the canyon walls glow like molten brick in the late afternoon sun, making every pause feel like a front-row seat to nature’s theater.

And just when you think you’ve seen it all, the towering pines and sweeping vistas near Flagstaff remind you that Arizona’s beauty keeps unfolding, mile after mile.

Prescott To Jerome: Mingus Mountain Ascent

The climb from Prescott to Jerome begins with a steady heartbeat of switchbacks that tug your attention toward the sky. Pines thin, views widen, and the air cools just enough to sharpen the colors.

I rolled the windows down and let the tires hum, timing turns to the mountain’s rhythm. Halfway up, a pullout reveals the Verde Valley stretching like a folded map.

I once spilled trail mix here in a gust, and ravens scored a quick snack, swooping like tiny air traffic controllers. The road tightens near summit curves, so downshift early and favor patience over adrenaline.

Watch for cyclists hugging the shoulder, and deer stepping from brush at dusk. Guardrails gleam in afternoon light, hinting at serious drop offs.

You will feel small, safe, and utterly awake.

Jerome: The Hillside Arts Haven

Jerome clings to Cleopatra Hill like a cat on velvet, impossibly perched and endlessly photogenic. Galleries and studios spill bright canvases onto sidewalks, and every doorway opens to more stories.

I wandered crooked streets, listening to boards creak and wind flirt with metal signs. A metalworker invited me in, and we traded road tips over the hiss of a torch.

Minutes later, I stepped onto a balcony and the Verde Valley looked hand painted, layered in blues and golds. Parking is tight, so arrive early, walk slow, and respect the drop offs.

Grab snacks for the next leg because options thin beyond town. Historic plaques reward curious pauses, and stairways shortcut from street to street.

Jerome is both museum and living room, and you are an honored guest between switchbacks.

Cottonwood And Old Town Flavors

Rolling off the mountain into Cottonwood feels like sliding into a friendly handshake. Old Town’s brick lined main drag offers coffee, tacos, and sweet treats perfect for refueling.

I parked beneath string lights and followed the aroma of roasted chiles to a cheerful patio. A server noticed the dust on my boots and slid extra salsa like a secret handshake.

With a full belly, I strolled past vintage signs and antique shops that double as conversation starters. Restrooms, fuel, and groceries are abundant here, so stock up before canyon curves.

Side streets hide murals worth a detour, and sidewalks welcome easy wandering. Temperatures run warmer than the higher elevations, so stash layers.

Cottonwood is the comfort stop that turns into a linger, reminding you that road trips taste better slow.

Sedona’s Red Rock Corridor

Entering Sedona on SR 89A is like opening a theater curtain onto crimson cliffs. Buttes rise with superhero confidence while the road threads through neighborhoods framed by juniper and artful stone.

I pulled over repeatedly, unable to resist the glow that paints rocks near sunset. One afternoon, a local pointed me toward a side street viewpoint where the sky turned cotton candy.

We stood quietly as shadows stretched, letting the wind carry stories between silhouettes. Parking can be competitive, so use designated areas and never trample cryptobiotic soil.

Trailheads sit minutes from the highway, offering quick leg stretches or full day adventures. Bring water, respect heat, and watch for bicyclists.

Sedona’s corridor proves beauty is not a detour here, it is the main event waving from every curve.

Slide Rock State Park: Natural Water Slides

Slide Rock is the childhood joy you did not know you packed. Smooth sandstone turns Oak Creek into a grin inducing ride, and the water snaps awake even on hot days.

I shuffled carefully, sat, and whooshed into a splash that erased road dust instantly. A friendly family offered a spare towel while we traded route ideas across dripping elbows.

Footwear with grip is essential, and currents get lively during higher flows. Facilities are well maintained, but lines build, so arrive early and keep valuables minimal.

Picnic tables hide in cottonwood shade, and canyon walls frame a postcard sky. Sunscreen, snacks, and patience make everything smoother than the rock itself.

Slide Rock proves that gravity appreciates a good laugh, especially when you do too. The creek twists and turns like a playful guide, leading you deeper into the heart of Oak Creek’s cool embrace.

By the time you leave, the warmth of the sun and the thrill of the ride linger, tucked into your memory like a perfect summer day.

Oak Creek Canyon: The S Curves and Forest Shade

Oak Creek Canyon narrows the world into emerald, rust, and rushing water. The S curves here demand attention, but rewards arrive as sunlit pools, singing birds, and pine scented breezes.

I stopped at a shaded pullout to hear the creek brag over polished stones. A ranger once waved me toward a lesser known picnic spot where dragonflies stitched glitter into the air.

Lunch tasted better with cliff views and cool shade. Expect slower speeds, occasional rockfall warnings, and tight passing zones that favor courteous patience.

Trailheads pop up like subtle invitations, and each promises a different angle on the canyon’s layered drama. Keep an eye on weather because storms can change conditions quickly.

In this corridor, time bends softly, and your breath finds an easier rhythm.

Midgley Bridge To Flagstaff: High Country Finish

Midgley Bridge rises like a silver signature over red rock pages. I parked safely, walked the viewpoint, and watched shadows pool beneath the arch while traffic whispered across steel.

Photographers adore the angles, and for good reason, but mind the edge and posted signs. Just beyond, altitude gains and ponderosa forests usher in cooler air.

I once brewed roadside coffee on a tiny stove, steam curling as a train horn drifted from far away. Approaching Flagstaff, the sky widens and the peaks anchor the horizon.

Road conditions shift with elevation, so check temps when seasons change. Pullouts offer final looks back toward the canyon’s red embrace.

The drive ends, but the echo of curves remains, inviting you to turn around and savor it again. The scent of pine lingers long after the asphalt fades beneath your tires.

Clouds gather and scatter across the high desert, painting shadows that chase each bend. A lone hawk circles near the horizon, its quiet vigilance a reminder that some journeys are meant to be witnessed slowly.

And even as you merge back into the rhythm of city streets, the memory of winding roads, red rock, and endless sky rides shotgun with you.

Tuzigoot And The Verde Vista Bend

The road softens near Tuzigoot, where stone walls crown a low ridge above the Verde River. You slow without meaning to, caught by the way cottonwoods flash green against rust hills.

The pueblo’s stacked rooms feel like a whisper from another set of travelers, pausing here long before gas stations and playlists. Step out and the wind carries river scent and sun-warmed dust.

Hawks spiral over the valley like they own the light. You trace the ridge, then glide back to the highway, eyes tuned to terraces and water glints.

History rides shotgun, nudging you toward the next bend. Each turn reveals layers of time, from ancient dwellings to the imprint of modern roads threading through the canyon.

Shadows stretch across the hills, shifting with the sun and inviting quiet reflection. A lone cottonwood by the river bends gracefully, as if bowing to the centuries of travelers who passed before.

And just beyond the next curve, a cluster of red cliffs rises like guardians, reminding you that this journey is as much about presence as it is about distance.

Red Rock Overlook And Chapel Spur

The highway tips you into a postcard near the Chapel of the Holy Cross, where sandstone glows like banked coals. Pull into the overlook and everything steadies.

Buttes stack in patient tiers, and the chapel sits poised in the cliff, a quiet line drawn through rock and sky. Engines idle, then hush.

You breathe, feeling heat soak the guardrail, camera too warm in your hand. A raven cuts across the face of the butte, and the whole scene holds a breath with you.

When you roll out again, the colors seem closer, as if the road signed your name. The switchbacks curve like brushstrokes on a canvas, each bend revealing new layers of red and gold.

Shadows lengthen across the valley, stretching the drama of the cliffs into the late afternoon. A pair of hikers traces a distant ridge, tiny against the vastness, reminding you how small moments live inside grand landscapes.

And as the highway dips and rises again, the desert exhales, carrying the scent of pine, earth, and sun-warmed stone with you.